Dead on Arrival
by Indigo Kitti
Summary: ONESHOT My name is Draco Malfoy, I died precisely one year ago today. hd slash


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warning(s): Slash

Author's Notes: This is my _baby_, its been in the works for six monthes. And it's still not where I'd like it to be. Special thanks to Jen for helping me decide on the final title and to Ivlysenbei for her excellent beta work.

XoX

_Dead on Arrival_

My name is Draco Malfoy, and I died precisely one year ago today.

Now, I know what you're thinking, _'How can you be dead if you're standing in front of me?'_ It's possible, believe me. And no, I'm not a vampire or some other version of 'undead'; I'm very much alive.

But I did die. In fact, I_ stayed_ dead for a while.

I'm sure you're gagging for my story, hmm? Well, sit back and let me paint a picture for you.

It all started on July 29, 1997. I was sitting in my bedroom, quite content to lounge in the silk sheets and plush velvet coverlet that came with all Malfoy beds, when my door was flung open and a figure clothed in all black stepped into the room.

"Father?" I asked, placing my novel down for a moment. I was certain the figure was my father – who else could it be? They were wearing clothing identical to father's 'work' clothes after all. I suppose it _should_ have occurred to me that daddy-dearest had been locked up in Azkaban since the beginning of summer, but I wasn't all that bright.

"Guess again, Death Eater scum!" the figure cried, pointing his wand at me and striking a garish pose.

"Who the Hell are you and what are you doing in my room? Have you never heard of knocking?" I asked angrily, picking my novel back up. I was eager to get back to it – Brad had just swept Nathan into his heavily muscled arms.

"Don't you underestimate me, Malfoy! I'm here to kill you!"

I really should have taken him more seriously.

"You have until the count of ten to give me your wand and surrender!"

Although, to be fair I didn't actually get until the count of ten.

"Ten! Too late!_ Defungo_!"

My world went black.

XoX

I woke up on the 30th with a throbbing head and no idea where I was. I seemed to be lying, facedown, over Surrey.

Yeah, you heard me, _over_ Surrey.

I tried to stay in one place, semi-afraid I'd lose my balance on whatever was holding me up – remember, I didn't know that I was dead – but it was futile. Almost as soon as my eyes opened I was drawn down towards the ground.

Or, more specifically, towards a house.

It looked just like every other house on the drive – boring, plain and outrageously Muggle – but there was something just a bit different, something that caught my eye.

Before I knew it I was in a small, dingy room with bars on its windows and a flock of indignant owls trying to get in. They tapped on the window mercilessly and I couldn't help but wonder why they didn't just go to another, it was painfully obvious from the yelling downstairs that_ someone_ was home in the hovel.

I floated over to the window and read the address off on the envelopes in the owls' claws.

_Harry Potter  
The Spare Room  
#4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging  
Surrey, England_

_Crap_, I thought, _I'm in Potter's house. _

Then I remembered what day it was and cursed even harder.

_"Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear savior's birth,"_ I sang humorlessly, eyeing the rabid owls. Perhaps Potter would be in a generous mood and would tell me what had happened to bring me here.

The door to the room flew open and Potter stomped into the room. "Dammit!" he yelled, hurling a sack of some sort towards the bed, "That fat lump of lard!"

Potter paused for a moment and looked around, eyes passing over me as if I were invisible. He shivered and then shrugged, walking over to the window and letting the owls in.

"Oh joy, another birthday spent alone locked in Dudley's second bedroom," Potter muttered as he let in the owls and began to sort through the gifts they had brought him.

"Excuse me Potter? Alone? Are you bloody blind?" I snapped, tired of being ignored.

And, horror of horrors, he went on ignoring me.

"Potter!" I yelled, waving my hand in front of his face.

"Bloody Dursleys…"

_Great,_ I thought petulantly,_ he finds complaining about his Muggle relatives so encompassing that he hasn't noticed me._

"Why's everything arriving so early?" Potter asked the room – or maybe me, I've never decided if he somehow knew I was there or if he just likes to talk to himself – growing up in a closet can do that to you, you know. "They usually only start arriving after midnight…"

_Does Potter not know? _I wondered, floating above him to look through his presents. _Surely someone's told him? _

But no one had – or at least not yet. I later found out that one of the letters contained the information Potter needed, but by then it was too late.

It was midnight on July 31st 1997, Harry Potter's seventeenth birthday and the day of his inheritance.

XoX

When Potter _finally_ stopped screaming, twitching and otherwise disrupting the peace there were three angry Muggles pounding at the door and my headache had gotten worse.

"Uuuuuuuuuuurgh," Potter groaned, sitting up with all the grace of a bull elephant. "My head…"

"You think_ your_ head hurts, Potter? I've had a migraine since that bastard vigilante hexed me and your screaming did _not_ help."

Potter's head snapped up and his eyes went wide. "M-m-malfoy?" he stuttered, backing away from me.

"No, Potter, I'm the Easter Bunny!" I yelled, "Tell your bloody relatives to shut the hell up before I make them!"

Potter, looking paler then I ever had, backed up some more and nodded slowly. "Sorry, I'll stop now," he shouted in the general vicinity of the door.

The banging abruptly halted and, with a few muttered threats and heavy thuds, the relatives were gone.

"So," Potter said, grabbing his wand from his bedside table. "When did you get here and when are you leaving?"

"Oh nice, Potter," I snapped. "What a way to treat your guests."

"I don't remember inviting you here, Malfoy," Potter said with a scowl. "How did you get in without me noticing, anyway? Invisibility Cloak?"

"For your information, Potter, I floated through the window about three hours ago."

"Three hours?" Potter exclaimed, "But that's impossible! I've been here since before midnight and _you've_ only been here since I woke up!"

"No, I was here when you came in, Potter," I sneered. "Your glasses obviously need adjustment."

Potter's scowl deepened. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?" He stood up and strode towards me, hand reaching out to grab my collar. Just as I was preparing to pull back and run he gasped. "Fuck. Malfoy!"

"What?" I glanced down and echoed his gasp with one of my own. Potter's hand had passed right through my collar and was resting somewhere in my neck. "Oh fuck."

XoX

"So let me get this straight, a vigilante burst into your room and cast a curse on you. A curse which has, evidently, killed you. And you're not upset about this?"

"I don't think it's really sunken in yet," I answered amicably, flying about Potter's ceiling. "This is fun. Flying is even better without a broom. Do you think it's possible for a ghost to be in shock?"

"Professor Binns."

"Right, so a ghost can be in denial. Do you think they'd let me go to Hogwarts during the school year even if I am dead? I think it'd be even more fun, don't you?"

"I think you should be more concerned, Malfoy. Somebody just killed you." Potter seemed really hung up on this fact.

"Yes, I suppose they did. Do you think I could become more infamous than Moaning Myrtle?" I attempted to land and ended up hovering upright about a foot above Potter's floor.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Potter said with a shrug. "Shouldn't we tell somebody about this?"

I frowned. "Well, when I woke up I was pulled to _your_ room so I think you're the one I'm supposed to be talking to."

"Oh." Potter turned to his presents and letters. "Would you mind if I opened these now?"

"Go ahead, Potter. I'll just float here and watch."

Potter opened the gifts from the Mudblood and the Weasels first. The Mudblood has sent him a book – no surprise – and Weasel #1 had given him a hideously orange Cannons T-shirt. Weasel #2 seemed to have made her gift herself, knitted it in fact. Potter wrinkled his nose and didn't tell me off for laughing at the lumpy scarf. Potter unwrapped a pile of what he assured me were rocks cakes and promptly threw them out. This left the letters.

"Potter," I said. "Did you know about tonight?"

"What?"

"You know, the whole rolling on the ground screaming thing. Didn't you know about it?"

"No," Potter answered. "I just kind of assumed it was you."

"Oh. Read the letter from Dumbledore first then." I made a show of appearing to sit next to him on the lumpy bed and passed a finger pointedly through an elegantly addressed envelope – the same one I'd seen in the owl's claws earlier actually.

Potter picked it up and read through it, dropped it, picked it up, and read it again.

"Is he serious?" Potter asked.

"I don't know," I said with a scowl. "Read it aloud, you wanker."

Surprisingly, Potter did as I told him to. _"Dear Harry,"_ he read. _"I'm sure you're wondering why this letter is arriving so early in the evening. I must admit, there are some things you should know before tonight so that you can be prepared. First, what I am about to tell you happens to every witch and wizard on their seventeenth birthday, and is common enough knowledge throughout the wizarding world that no one thought to inform you until quite recently. Second, please write me as soon as you have recovered from receiving your inheritance. _

"When ever a young person reaches their majority their talent emerges. This talent usually manifests itself as a penchant for one of the many courses offered at Hogwarts, but can sometimes reach beyond. Your mother was quite adept at Charms, and your father at Transfiguration – so far Defense Against the Dark Arts is looking like the best bet for you, Harry.

"In rare cases, something truly strange happens to the recipients of inheritance. If you wake up with an extra arm please remember, DON'T PANIC.

"Good luck and write as soon as possible, Albus Dumbledore."

Potter stopped reading and we sat in silence for a while.

"I suppose," he said, "I should write the Headmaster and tell him I got a ghost for my inheritance."

"Shut up Potter."

XoX

When Potter's owl arrived back and interrupted the staring contest Potter and I were having – since I didn't need to keep my eyes hydrated I'd won the last six in a row – she held a hastily scrawled reply that read: _"I'll be there soon." _

Two minutes later Dumbledore appeared – or Apparated, I suppose – in the middle of Potter's dingy room.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, because of course The-Boy-Who-Lived is on a first name basis with the Headmaster. "Where's this ghost?"

"Right here you barmy old coot!" I snapped.

Potter looked positively scandalized. "Malfoy!"

Dumbledore followed Potter's gaze and squinted.

"I don't see anyone, Harry."

"I didn't see anyone until after I got my inheritance either, Headmaster." Harry explained eagerly, "But Malfoy says he was here the whole time. Sounded really pissed off about me not paying him any attention too."

Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, looking at the wall beyond my shoulder, but obviously thinking he was looking me in the eyes. "Can you explain in your own exact words what happened before you appeared here?"

XoX

"And then he umm… ignored him and was killed," Potter finished, editing out my more colourful comments.

"And what curse did our attacker use on Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, no longer even pretending to pay attention to me.

"Defungo," I snapped, echoed quickly by Potter.

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore, because he was the type of person who actually said that kind of thing. "I'm afraid young Mr. Malfoy really is dead. And not pleasantly dead, either. The only reason _Defungo_ isn't listed as an Unforgivable is because it's reversible. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Potter asked without prompting. "Sometimes when? And why can I see him, but not you?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment before turning and levitating all of Potter's things into a small bag he pulled from his sleeve. "Get your trunk, Harry. I'm taking you boys to see Molly Weasley."

XoX

When we reached the ramshackle Weasel household a whole pack of red heads came flying out the door towards us. We'd had to take the Knight Bus because ghosts can't be Apparated or Portkeyed and the whole clan had been informed.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Good – Molly, can you tell me what you see?"

The fattest, oldest Weasel woman stopped smothering Potter for a moment and glanced around. "See where?"

"_Whom _do you see, Molly?"

Her eyes scanned over the whole group before focusing on me. "Why – it's Lucius Malfoy's son!" she exclaimed. "Whatever is he doing here?"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled and he began striding towards the house. "He's the ghost I told you about."

As I floated behind the two people in the crowd who could actually see me, I noticed that the Mudblood was with the Weasel clan, hanging off of Weasel #1 who was looking remarkably upbeat. I suspect he'd just heard Dumbledore pronounce me dead.

"I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasely said, sounding like she actually meant it. "I seem to have forgotten your given name – all my children refer to you by your last name."

I'm sure that's not all they refer to me as, but I decided that alienating one of the two people who could actually see me wouldn't be a good idea.

"My name is Draco, ma'am. What a lovely home you have here, it's very… homey."

"Oh how kind of you!" she exclaimed, drawing incredulous stares from all the Weasely children who'd met me.

"Yes, we have the same flowers in the gardens of the Manor," I said, gesturing to the mangled roses that stood in front of her hovel, looking lonely.

"Really?" Mrs. Weasely exclaimed. "How interesting. How do you keep the gardens free of gnomes?"

"I believe that the House Elves take care of it, but don't quote me on that," I replied easily, ignoring the shocked look Potter was giving me. "It could quite easily be one of the gardeners."

The overweight woman nodded as if she knew exactly what I was talking about. Honestly, there's no way a _Weasely_ knew anything about private gardeners. Alright, so they would if they worked as one, but given the state of her roses I doubted that very much.

"Mrs. Weasely," Potter said as we walked – or, in my case, floated – into her house. "Why are you and I the only ones who can see Malfoy's ghost?"

She smiled. "Didn't the Headmaster tell you? Draco isn't technically dead yet, we can see him because we have a strong affinity for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"What?" Potter and I both exclaimed, whirling to face her.

"Oh yes, _Defungo_ is reversible if one has someone willing to go through a series of tests to retrieve one's life force," she gave Potter a Look, "and I think we can find someone to help out young Mr. Malfoy quite easily, can't we?"

I'm absolutely positive I heard someone behind me snort.

XoX

Loathe as I was to put my life in Potter's hands, I ended up having little choice in the matter. Mrs. Weasely certainly wasn't vocalizing my protests, and Potter was too busy trying to defend himself.

"But why _me_?" Potter asked for the third time. "Malfoy and I don't even_ like_ each other!"

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasely exclaimed. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you think a childish rivalry is good enough reason to let Draco _die_?"

Right away I knew Potter had lost the argument.

"The poor boy is sitting _right here_ and you want to leave him hanging? Never knowing if maybe, just maybe, he could have lived and breathed once again?"

I was suddenly very glad my mother had given up any motherly instincts she'd once had in order to get rid of her stretch marks.

Potter, looking suitably chastised, nodded miserably. "Alright, what do I have to do?"

XoX

If, when I was younger, anyone had ever come up to me and said that one day Harry Potter would risk his life to save mine I would have called them insane and had my father kill them.

That's just the kind of person I am. Was.

But staring at Potter lying down on the Weasely's immense kitchen table in nothing but his trousers with archaic symbols drawn in black ink all over his chest, it seemed like that very thing was happening.

The Mudblood was standing in the corner, clutching the Weasel and sobbing into his scruffy robes. The Weasel was clutching Potter's glasses and trying to comfort her while keeping himself together.

I'm quite sure that I'd want my friends to have a bit more faith in me were_ I_ going to try and rescue my childhood nemesis from certain death. I made sure to inform Potter of the fact as well.

"Well," he said, wincing as Dumbledore's hands drew yet another swirl on his left shoulder. "You can't really blame them for worrying. I'm insane for doing this."

I nodded. "Yes, but they could at least_ pretend _that they think you're coming back, couldn't they?"

Potter shrugged, causing Dumbledore to sigh and erase the now smudged symbol he'd been drawing. "It's not a big deal, Malfoy. I'll come back in the end, hopefully with you in tow."

I really wish he'd been more concerned about the last bit.

"Draco, dear," said Mrs. Weasely, who I was coming to like, even if she way horribly over weight. "I'm afraid this might hurt a bit. You're going to be our focus for pulling Harry's spirit out of his body." She wandered over to the filthy stove and stirred the copper pot of potion sitting on top. "Usually with this sort of thing one uses the dead party's body, but because you've left yours back at Malfoy Manor we're going to have to use your spirit, which means no protective runes for you. No one will blame you if you scream."

I reiterate, if this is what mothers are like I'm glad I never had one who cared for anything more than shopping and absinthe.

Nodding, I floated so that I was hovering just above Potter's feet. My hands rubbed together in what may have been a nervous twitch.

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "We need you to lie perfectly still while we perform this rite. Once we're done Molly is going to tip that potion –" he pointed towards the sludge cheerfully bubbling away on the Weasely stove "– into your mouth. You must swallow and then close your eyes, focusing your thoughts on Mr. Malfoy. When you feel a tugging at your naval, not dissimilar to the sensation one gets from Portkeys, do not resist it. When you open your eyes your journey will have begun."

And so saying Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasely began to chant a bunch of druidic tripe I won't bother repeating. The rest of the Weasely clan (and Granger) watched in mixed awe and horror as the runes on Potter's body began to glow as fiercely as the tube-y Muggle things that produce light in different colors. Mrs. Weasely poured the sludge into Potter's open mouth and he swallowed.

What happened next has always puzzled me somewhat. I think I may have screamed, as Mrs. Weasely predicted, but I'll never admit it to Potter who_ did_ scream and has not heard the end of it since.

Quite suddenly, we were both standing in front of a saintly looking old fellow with a great big book in front of him.

"Hello, boys," he said. "I'm afraid you're here quite early."

"And where's here?" Potter asked, looking around the stark room. "Some kind of clinic?"

"Why this is the entrance, of course," the man said, as if we were both daft. "The white light? The pearly gates?"

"Oh," Potter said faintly. "Are you sure? We're supposed to be making sure he comes _back_ to life, not that he goes to the nice place. Are you really St. Peter?"

"The one and only," the man beamed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. Now what's this about bringing Mr. Malfoy back to life?"

"Well," Potter said uneasily. "It was _Defungo _you see, and the Headmaster says it's reversible."

"Well it is…" St. Peter trailed off and glanced curiously at his book. "Yes, well, I'd love to chat but we're busy up here – taxes and dying, you know. I'll declare you worthy and you can travel on you merry way. Ta." He waved his left hand while reaching over and yanking a lever with his right. The floor dropped from under us.

XoX

Groaning, I sat up. And then I realized that I could no longer float, was not passing through objects, and felt solid. Then I looked around and felt the excitement that had been bubbling up inside of me die.

Potter was standing not too far away from me, surveying the massive hall. It was long, approximately ten feet wide, and made of solid black marble from floor to ceiling – not that I could actually see the ceiling, it just seemed like the sort of place where one didn't skimp on the details.

"Potter," I said. "Help me up."

Startled, Potter whirled around and stared at me with wide eyes before coming over and offering a Quidditch-calloused hand.

"You'd think," I huffed, standing up and wiping imaginary particles of dust off my wrinkled robes, "that a saint would have better manners."

Potter laughed nervously. "I think your passing out had more to do with becoming corporal than him opening a trap door underneath out feet. I was awake the whole time."

"Fine," I grumbled. "Let's go."

"Go where?" he asked, scampering after me. "Malfoy, we have no idea of where we are. What if we're supposed to stay in place?"

"You're a Gryffindor," I spat. "You're supposed to be the brave one. In fact, you walk in front."

Potter gulped and edged his way in front of me. "Alright then, let's get on with it."

Shortly, we came to a pair of doors at the end of the hall. A pair of solid gold doors we couldn't see the tops of.

"I think," Potter said warily, "we're supposed to go through these."

"Generally speaking, that's what doors are for," I snapped, rolling my eyes and pushing past him. "Gryffindor bravery my arse."

The doors opened to two… beings. A woman with a cat head, body covered with little besides a dusting of chocolate brown fur and gold jewelry, and a dog headed man in a linen skirt.

"Hello," the woman said pleasantly. "I think you have the wrong door – neither of you are dead yet."

"Oh good," said Potter. "I wondered for a moment back there. It's _Defungo_, you see."

The cat and dog nodded. "No problem," the dog said. "Happens all the time."

I perked up. "Really?"

"Well, not as often as it used to," he amended.

"Oh."

The cat shot the dog a dirty look. "I'm Bast," she said self importantly. "And he is Anubis."

"Hello," Potter said helpfully. "I'm Harry and this is Draco."

I paused to wonder when we'd become Harry and Draco instead of Potter and Malfoy. Bast twitched her tail like Millicent's cat when you rescue your last chocolate frog from its foul clutches.

Anubis took two steps away from Bast. "We'll take you to have your hearts weighed, and if you're declared worthy we'll send you on your way."

"St. Peter declared us worthy," Potter offered helpfully as we followed Bast and Anubis down a second hall.

Bast rolled her huge, golden eyes. "Peter declares _everybody_ worthy. That's why you come here next. He was only recently adopted into the testing, you know. We had to let him have a job after his boss moved in on all our territory. Big business kills the small guys every time. After all, why bother to learn the names and jobs of _every_ God when you can just focus on one great bloody mass of heavenly might."

I got the distinct feeling that this was an old wound for her.

"You should here Osiris whine about it," she continued. "Like he was the only underworld God who got evicted, bloody ponce."

"Hey," Potter said. "How come you don't have an accent?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Well," Bast said as we approached another pair of massive doors. "I think it's because we're not real in all senses of the word."

"Oh, I see," said Potter in a way which said that, no, he really didn't see at all. That's alright though, neither did I.

When we walked through the second pair of golden doors I'd been expecting a great marble hall like the last one, or a resplendent throne room complete with elegant mosaics and haughty monarch. What I didn't expect is what we got.

Sitting in the middle of the room, slouching, a handsome boy around my age was watching people moving in a huge box.

"They have cable in the Underworld?" Potter asked, wandering over to where the boy was slouching. "Mash? Really?"

"Dude," said the boy. "People so totally_ die_ in this show."

"Oh," said Potter. "Cool."

I wasn't really sure what language they were speaking, but the boy had an American accent. We all stood in silence for a moment, as a man in uniform rose from the side of a dead body and turned the hands on a clock forward ten minutes. The boy picked up a small black box and pointed it at the bigger one. The box went black.

"So, how can I help you?" the boy asked, shifting so he had both legs up on the couch.

"They're here to get their souls weighed, oh mighty Osiris," Anubis groveled. "It's _Defungo_."

"Oh crap," said the mighty Osiris. "You mean I have to miss my shows? This blows."

Potter nodded.

"Oh well, let's get this show on the road." Osiris oozed off the couch and slumped across the room. "I fucking hate _Defungo_. Whatever jackass cast that fucking curse better hope his pansy ass never ends up down here."

"My liege," Bast simpered. "Perhaps we should explain how this works to our visitors?"

"Oh right, of course," Osiris turned to us. "Look, one at a time your hearts will be weighed against a feather. If your heart is lighter than the feather then it's all good, you're declared _maa kheru_ and can continue to the next level. But if your heart is heavier than the feather… well, then you're condemned and you'll be devoured by the Eater of the Dead, dig?"

Potter and I nodded fearfully.

"Right, well I'll let you in on a little secret – the feather? It's pretty damn heavy. It takes some serious shit to tip that baby."

Out of nowhere, Anubis produced a golden scale like the kind the Goblins at Gringotts use. In a similar feat of conjuring, Bast produced a pure white feather and laid it on the left scale, which promptly plummeted to the ground.

Belatedly, I wondered if it wasn't too late to forget the whole "let's save Malfoy" thing and head back.

"Alright, let's have your hearts," Bast said, reaching into our chests and yanking them out. It hurt. A lot.

"Ouch," said Potter. "I thought 'weighing your hearts' was more metaphoric and less bloody."

Bast placed one of the hearts on the empty scale and licked the blood on her hand. "It seems pretty clear to me."

Osiris cleared his throat and our attention was drawn to the heart – whichever of us it belonged to – clearly not outweighing the feather. I fact, the feather had barely moved off the ground.

I turned to Potter. "That's yours," I said, certain it wasn't mine. "Bloody goody two shoes."

Potter blushed and Bast switched the hearts. For a moment the scales tilted and I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. When the scaled evened out you could barely slide a knut through the space between the feather and the ground. Potter and I both let out a sigh.

"Excellent," Osiris beamed. "You've both got the best of intentions. Anubis? If you'd be so kind?"

Anubis grabbed the first heart from Bast and the second from the scale. Glancing between Potter and me warily he held out his hands. I, of course, took the heavier one which, coincidently, was on the hand he held out in front of me. I shoved the heart back in my chest and turned in time to see Potter do the same.

"Right this way, guys," Osiris turned and motioned for Potter and me to follow behind him. "You're both free to go. Sorry about the heart switch thing, but it's part of the deal."

"What?" Potter said.

"Heart switch – you have his heart, he has yours? Look, dude, it's not a big or anything. It's just… hearts."

Potter was looking about as pale as I usually do, which looks quite good on me but doesn't bear thinking about when it comes to him.

"Wait," I said. "Potter has a heavier heart than me?"

Osiris gave me a Look, not unlike that of Dumbledore. Suddenly, I could see why Bast and Anubis prostrated themselves in front of him.

"You're not evil, Draco Malfoy, no matter what you think," Osiris declared. "You're just a spoiled brat. Now fuck off, I'm missing my shows."

And with that, Potter and I were alone in front of a slick metal door which was, surprisingly, normal sized. Potter was still reeling from finding out that our hearts had switched bodies, so I decided to be the one to take the initiative and turned the knob of the door.

The door swung open to reveal a cool metal and cherry wood office of the type you see displayed in Muggle storefronts. The walls had elegant sconces giving off a dim light, the couches were made of smooth leather, even the man sitting at the brushed steel desk gave off a cool, modern air.

And he wore sunglasses. Inside.

"Hello," Potter said, snapping out of his daze and closing the door behind him. "We're here about _Defungo_."

The man smirked with all the talent of a naturally born Malfoy and said: "Ah yes, I've been waiting for you two. My name is Hades and I'll be your final judge today."

"Oh," said Potter.

"Great," I said. "So after this it's over?"

"I'm not sure you understand, Mr. Malfoy," Hades said, raising a slick eyebrow. "If Mr. Potter fails this test then you're dead."

I nodded. "Yes, but this is the last test."

"You'll see," Hades said with a shrug. "I hope you know your myths and fairytales."

With that cryptic statement Hades brought us to a long, narrow staircase pointing sharply upwards. "This," he said, "is the way out. All Mr. Potter needs to do is walk up the staircase without looking back." He turned to Potter and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You look back and blondie is doomed to an afterlife of eternal torment. And then you'll be torn apart by hags when you reach the top. Fun, hmm?"

Potter gulped loudly.

"If you look back," I threatened. "If you look back even_ once_ I swear I'll make what those hags do to you look like child's play, Potter."

He gulped again, even more loudly.

Hades smiled, exposing deadly sharp canines. "Perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, we can work out a deal. How does a job sound? Only if Mr. Potter fails this test, of course."

His tone of voice left no doubt as to his belief in Potter's ability to pass the test.

"Alright," he said. "Mr. Potter, you can start on your way now."

Potter started up the stairs, careful not to turn around, or even glance over his shoulder as he made his way up them. When Potter was out of sight Hades turned to me and said: "Now, since Mr. Potter's making his way up, how about you start as well. That's how this is actually supposed to work, you know. You follow him up."

I shrugged and started up the stairs.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy?"

I turned and raised an eyebrow.

"I'll see you soon."

XoX

I was fuming as I made my way up the steps. Hades obviously didn't know Potter or what he was capable of.

"Malfoy?" Potter called from up front. "Is that you making all those… umm… that noise back there?"

I couldn't hear anything, but, I thought, it was entirely possible that Potter had heard me stomping up behind him.

"Yes, Potter," I called. "It's me. If you turn around I'm going to disembowel you."

Potter didn't stop walking, nor did he turn. "Malfoy? Malfoy, answer me so I know it's you!"

"You imbecile, I did answer you!" I shouted at Potter's barely visible back.

"God, Malfoy… Do you realize the situation we're in?" Potter's voice had a desperate edge to it. "Now is not the time for… _that_."

There was something about the infliction he put on that word 'that' which had me thinking dirty things.

"Malfoy, come on. How can you do that at a time like this?" There was a pause, as if Potter was listening to someone. "_No_, I don't want to_ join you_!"

The idea didn't seem to be upsetting him all that much though, if the flush covering the back of his neck was anything to go by.

"Bloody Hell…" Potter murmured in an awed tone. I hoped whatever he was hearing made me look good.

"Malfoy, if we get out of here alive I might just… take you up on that offer."

I stopped walking for a second to consider it. Me and Potter? I couldn't deny that the thought of a… relationship of some sort between us held a certain kind of allure. Potter was… decent looking and ridiculously famous, also rich.

As we walked in silence – I could only assume that Potter had either given up trying to silence the… whatever of the fake me or that the fake me had become silent – Potter and I seemed to grow farther and farther apart. Eventually, Potter was only a dim clack of footsteps ahead of me on the steep staircase.

"This is horrible, Malfoy," Potter said after long minutes of silence had passed. "It's like we're climbing the whole of Hogwarts at once."

"Agreed," I moaned out tiredly. "If you were allowed to turn around I'd get you to carry me."

"Malfoy!" Potter exclaimed. "Malfoy, you're actually down there?"

"Yes, you numbskull, of course I'm here. And if you turn around I'll castrate you."

"That's not what you were saying earlier," Potter growled under his breath.

"Oh yes, what was I saying earlier? Or rather, what was the fake me saying earlier? I could only hear one side of the conversation," I said, smirking.

"_Fake_ you?"

"Why yes, Potter," I intoned innocently. "I have no idea what it was saying, but I would like to find out."

"Oh," Potter said faintly. "Nothing… You…_ it_ just asked me to turn around."

"I see," I said. "Well, I'm glad you didn't listen to it. I did wonder what it was saying to make you so… agitated though. And what offer are you going to be taking me up on later?"

Potter's neck was probably flushed again, I reflected.

"Err… Nothing. Just… to get some drinks at The Leakey Cauldron after all this is over."

"How _marvelous_," I purred. "I'd _love_ to."

At that point, I'd have eaten my socks is Potter's neck wasn't a patriotic Gryffindor red.

Soon enough, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Now, after St. Peter you can see where such a light could be fairly disturbing. Even after a year every time I come up from the dungeons to the main part of Hogwarts or travel through a tunnel on the Hogwarts Express my heart rate speeds up. When we reached the light, Potter only three steps ahead of me, the last thing I heard was Potter's sharp intake of breath before a massive gust of wind hit us and we were swept away.

XoX

I opened my eyes and was standing – that's right, _standing_ – at Potter's feet on the Weasely table top.

"_Malfoy_?" the Weasel asked incredulously. "Where did you come from?"

I looked around, meeting the eyes of the entire Weasely family, Granger and Dumbledore as I went.

"Well," I said after a moment. "If you can see me it must have worked. Can I move now?"

Dumbledore nodded mutely.

"Right," I hopped off of the table. "So why am I here and not back at the Manor where my body is?"

There was pause.

"How's Harry? Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Granger blurted.

Following Granger's exclamation, everyone rushed to the table and I was crushed against the side by two of the elder Weaselys.

Dumbledore reached over and shook Potter's motionless form.

"Harry? Harry, wake up!" the Weasel called from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

Standing there, crushed against a dirty table, as red heads bobbed up and down, vying for the best view of the body on the table, I had a revelation. I didn't want Potter to be dead. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I now had Potter's heart, maybe it was because he'd offered a shag when we got back up from Hell, maybe it was because the mention of said shag had made me see Potter in a whole new light. Regardless, I was going to try and save Potter's life.

Desperately, I thought back to all the things the judges had said when Harry – I mean, Potter – and I were put through our paces. My eyes widened.

"I've got it!" I shouted, elbowing Weaselys left and right. "Shove off! Let me through!" After a few scowls and more than a few bruises I was standing across from Dumbledore. "I think I know how to wake him up," I said, looking the _much_ older man's gaze squarely.

Dumbledore looked at me for a moment, and even the Weaselys stopped their frantic scrambling. "If you're sure, Mr. Malfoy, then by all means…" and he stepped away from the table.

Certain that I wouldn't be able to get everyone to leave the room, and equally certain that if my plan didn't work I'd look like an absolute fool, I knelt on one of the many mismatching chairs surrounding the table the leant over Potter's stoic face.

"Merlin, let this work," I breathed, closing my eyes for a brief moment.

The room was silent, deadly silent, as I leant in. I'm not sure if Dumbledore knew what I was going to do, the Weasel and Granger didn't, judging by their outraged cries when I kissed Potter.

"You… you ferret!" the Weasel shouted, jumping forward and crushing two of his many brothers in the process.

The rest of the crowd was rendered speechless when Potter's arms came up and pulled me closer. He also slipped me the tongue, but I'm pretty sure no one besides me noticed that.

When I pulled away Potter was smiling stupidly and even the Weasel had ceased his yowling.

"Well," he said. "Perhaps that offer wasn't so false after all."

I smirked, knowing he could see it this time, and said: "I'm not sure The Leakey Cauldron is my style, Harry."

_fin_


End file.
